[Intro] [Instrumental: three-note motif erupts in 7/8 with cello, guitar and low brass.] Who laid the rail through winter stone? Who raised the tower, brick by bone? Who cut the cane and packed the crate? Who cooked the meal and locked the gate? [Verse 1] [Call and Response: baritone and female mezzo trade two-line phrases] Brown hands pulled the harvest through, Black hands laid the avenue. Hands from islands, hills and plains Drove the spikes and cleared the drains. Laundry steam and kitchen scars, Foundry sparks and freight-yard cars— Every dawn the whistle lied: The owners woke; the workers died. [Pre-Chorus] [Choir] Count the bridges. Count the grain. Count the profit. Count the pain. Read the ledger, line by line— Whose morning was it all this time? [Chorus] [Ensemble] Brown hands built the morning, Black hands laid the line, Names the ledgers buried Raised the bridge and mine. Hear the factory warning: We are taking back the morning. [Verse 2] [Baritone] A porter stood behind the chair, Invisible while serving there. A woman cleaned the office glass, Then watched her own reflection pass. A farmhand slept beside the field, No papers strong enough to shield His pay from theft, his back from blame— The crop was legal; not his name. [Pre-Chorus] [Choir] Count the kitchens. Count the steel. Count the hands the contracts steal. When the hidden stand in line, The morning changes ownership and time. [Chorus] [Ensemble] Brown hands built the morning, Black hands laid the line, Names the ledgers buried Raised the bridge and mine. Hear the courthouse warning: We are taking back the morning. [Instrumental] [Cello holds the motif in five-beat phrases; drums and guitars answer in seven, then lock into 4/4.] [Bridge] [Worker voices] I carried meals through the service door. I laid the tile on the courthouse floor. I picked the fruit you priced too high. I cleaned the room where laws were signed. I raised your child. I stitched your coat. I crossed your desert. I loaded your boat. [Break] [Unison] No hand is illegal. No worker unseen. No morning is spotless. No fortune is clean. The bridge has a memory. The field has a name. The hands you erased Have returned for the claim. [Buildup] [Ensemble] One shift stops. Then ten. Then more. The loading crane Hangs over the shore. The kitchen rests. The furnace cools. The hidden hands Rewrite the rules. [Final Chorus] [All voices] Brown hands built the morning, Black hands laid the line, Names the ledgers buried Raised the bridge and mine. Now the country hears the warning: Labor owns the coming morning. [Coda] [All voices] No more kneeling out of sight— The hands that built the dawn demand the light. [Outro] [Unison] The whistle called. No worker came. The sun still rose And spoke their names.